We are strange,
We travel in packs,
We have matching shirts and rituals.
Home is on the fire line
Where disaster is a familiar face.
When reinserted into conventional society
We are lost and confused
Like an undiscovered tribe
Transported to Manhattan.
And we deal with it by resorting to
Alcoholic incoherence,
Belligerent behavior,
And generalized
Destruction
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
But what a strong bond must link you all